Wesley Nicholas Eulogy by Mark Nicholas

Good morning. For those who don’t know, I am Mark, the eldest son of Wesley Nicholas, and I’d like to share a few things about my Dad with you this morning as we remember, celebrate and give thanks for his life.

Wesley Bernard Nicholas was born on December 30th, 1946, to Joe and Isadora Nicholas, who were both in their mid 40’s when he was born. As an only child, he grew up in the small oil refinery and railroad town of Laurel, Montana, which sits on the banks of the Yellowstone River and just west of Billings by about 15 miles. Montana is well-known as the Big Sky Country and from the town of Laurel you have a good view of the Pryor Mountains to the southeast and the impressive Beartooth Mountains to the southwest. The reason I tell you this is that this place and these views were deeply imprinted in my dad and no matter where else he lived, no place could be or ever would be home to him like Montana.

Growing up the only child of older parents, my dad had a fascinating childhood in that he was exposed to a variety of things by HIS dad, who was a skilled and resourceful jack of all trades. His dad was the town’s deputy sheriff, the water treatment plant operator, mechanic, machinist, building inspector and a pilot, among other things. This meant that my dad had a broad view of the world and what was possible. As a kid my dad was a paperboy, played trumpet, was a photographer and earned his pilot’s license in high school. He also dabbled in hunting, golf, and wrestling, but the most formative and favorite activity of his childhood by far was being with his dad and working alongside him in their garage shop, which was a wonderland of tools, machines, oil, steel, bolts, and screws. It smelled industrious and was industrious. It was a place where possibilities could become a reality. And it was the place where my Dad’s jack-of-all-trades skills were cultivated and honed. (And … if any of you have ever been inside mine, my brother’s or sister’s garage, you will how see these values are still in play, a couple generations later :)

For example, in the back there is a photo of a homemade tractor that my dad and grandpa built together.

After high school, Dad moved to Bozeman and attended Montana State University, where he studied mechanical engineering. While there he connected with a girl from his hometown by the name of Barbara and they became friends, playing cards and hanging out socially. During that time, Dad became smitten with Barbara, and though I’m told it took some convincing, he won her hand and they were married in September of 1968. After graduation, Dad accepted a job as a manufacturing engineer at the Western Electric plant in Omaha, Nebraska, where they moved in 1970.

(Actually, there was a little stowaway onboard who also made the move with them. This guy, whom they hadn’t met just yet. ;)

So Omaha, Nebraska, became the place where my dad and mom set up their tents and raised their family. I was born late summer of 1970, a year a half later my brother Mike came along, and then 4 1/2 years after that, our little sister Wendy was born.

In thinking back over our dad’s life, there are so many memories, stories and values that I could stand here and tell you about. But for those of you here who have only known him the past 7 years that they’ve lived here in Middle Tennessee, I want to share a few of his meaningful traits with you, in hopes that you will know him and his legacy a bit better.

The first thing that comes to mind is our dad’s work ethic. As I mentioned previously, he was an engineer and worked at Western Electric (which later became AT&T). His job there at that plant was to design telecommunications connectors for cabling operations. In the 70’s it was all copper cabling but in the 80’s they switched to fiber optic cable connectors. He was a quintessential engineer and was always concerned with detail, precision and process. At the dinner table when my mom would badger all of us with the question “how was your day?”, when it was my dad’s turn he would tell about some supremely boring machine process and how it had to “be exact” and how the part’s variance could not be off more than “1/100th the thickness of a sheet of paper”. I still don’t know how thick a regular sheet of paper is and probably never will - but he did and he cared and that made him good at his job.

Dad was a self-described workaholic, but it never did interfere with family. His work life was deeply patterned and systematic - he went in to work early by 7am and was home by 4:30 on the dot every single day (this to avoid the non-existent ‘rush hour’ traffic in Omaha, Nebraska). He’d come in the house, drop his keys in the ashtray on top of the refrigerator and briefcase on the counter in the same spot. In the kitchen he’d kiss Mom on the cheek then head straight to his lazy-boy recliner to read the newspaper until dinner was ready at 5pm. In all our years at home, this pattern was as predictable as the sun rising in the morning and never wavered. Looking back, I am deeply grateful for the consistency that he offered, even in something as seemingly trivial as this.

My siblings and I considered our Dad to be an extraordinary and thrifty do it yourself-er and we grew up in awe of his abilities. Whether it was building us a treehouse, re-roofing the house, fixing the cars (I never once remember my dad taking a car in to a mechanic for anything), electrical, plumbing, repairing clocks, etc, no matter what it was, our dad could do or fix seemingly anything.

My dad was not selfish with his abilities and routinely shared them with others. He was the go-to guy for all the widows at church who needed their cars repaired, free of charge. He would be at church several Saturdays a month working on the antiquated boiler system so we could have heat the next day during services. He also ran the “tape ministry” at church, which meant that he would record, duplicate and distribute cassette tapes of the sermons to shut-ins around town.

Dad’s work and acts of services were very formative for us kids, and his actions showed us that we were to give ourselves away on behalf of others.

That sounds a bit like the way of Jesus as well.

Faith was a crucial element of our Dad’s life. He was raised by his parents (his mom in particular) as a Christian Scientist, which if you know anything about it, it is a pretty wacky religion. It was in college and during a time of searching that my mom invited him to a Bible study she hosted in her apartment. He became curious about Jesus and Christianity and after talking to a pastor there, eventually placed his faith in the saving work of Jesus Christ and developed a deep love for God’s Word.

As I mentioned earlier, he was always looking for ways to serve his local church, but throughout his Christian life, he and my mom supported many foreign missionaries as well, in a number of different countries, several of whom have become lifelong friends.

After retirement Dad became a Gideon and devoted much of his spare time to distributing Bibles and serving as Treasurer of the local Gideon chapter.

You can see the pattern here… a life well-spent serving others.

But there’s a couple more things I’d like to briefly add.

Music was so very meaningful to our dad. He loved playing trumpet and was a great player. In high school he was often asked to play “Taps” at military funerals, he marched in the Tournament of Roses parade one year and traveled many places with the Montana Centennial Band. In Omaha he joined the Western Electric company band and would play annual holiday concerts, in nursing homes and so on. He also played around on the saxophone and piano. One of my favorite memories as a child is that he and my mom would often play duets on the family piano to serenade us kids as we’d be going to sleep at night. Dad would take the high, melodic parts and my mom would take the lower, rhythmic arrangements. My favorite song in their repertoire was "Jamaica Farewell.”

And even though he let us play with it when we were older, it was clear that his large console stereo system was one of his most valued treasures, and he would love to play his albums or listen to music on the radio for hours on end.

For being a pretty reserved guy, music was the thing that kept his emotions right at the surface. He and my mom’s love for music permeated our home, and the net result is that we kids loved music as well.

My dad was kind of a quiet person and not one who ever looked for or sought attention from other folks. However, he was always quick with a joke or a quip. I’ve noticed in a number of the condolences that people have offered that they remember him as a funny guy. Dad liked to think that his humor was dark and even started writing a memoir a few years back that he titled “Dark Humor”. But truth be told, his brand of humor wasn’t dark at all - rather it was DRY humor or WRY humor even. Kind of like if Bob Newhart was a bit more awkward and a bit more silly - that’s the kind of humorist our Dad was. A lot of times, during a family conversation, everybody would be talking about a topic and Dad would be sitting there not contributing anything, but then POW, out of left field he’d toss out a quip, joke or funny observation. Almost like a non-sequitur, he was there just waiting to pounce with a joke or something that would tickle him.

His humor was the thing that let us know he was paying attention and that there was a world of thought going on inside his head.

Dad’s humor was almost always self-deprecating. In the back on the table, there’s a little life history printout that Dad wrote back in 2004 that would give you a small glimpse into his funny mind.

There is a lot I’ve left out and more I wish I could say to let you know about our dad. But in closing, there is a single word that I think sums up my dad’s life and his legacy quite well. And that word is Fidelity, which means:

Faithfulness to a person, cause or belief AND demonstrated by continuing loyalty and support. And also, accuracy in details.

Our Dad - and our mom’s husband - was faithful to us, his family. He was faithful to his friends and faithful to his God. He was loyal and always supportive. I heard him say several times that he wanted to be known as someone who always provided for his family. And by God’s grace, he was able to do just that. Thanks, Dad, for leaving us with a good legacy to aspire to and a story to live into. Your story was a good one and we are grateful for your fidelity in all our lives. We look forward to seeing you again in the resurrection, your body, mind and soul restored and glorified. Until that day, we’ll be missing you being here with us.

And while I’m being thankful, I want to publicly honor and give thanks to our Mom, who sacrificed so much in caring for Dad his whole adult life, but particularly towards the end as his MS became more pronounced and burdensome. Dad endured so much without complaint, and you were there with him, holding his hand every step of the way. I love you, Mom, and I can only imagine the truckload of crowns being readied for you in heaven. Thank you for setting a loving example of faithfulness too.

And finally, to my parents’ friends at Smyrna Baptist Church - thank you for your welcoming kindness to my parents in their relatively short time here. You have given them a place to belong and a church home away from their Montana home. May God bless you for this. To God be the glory.  

July 2017

My grandmother always wore a long-sleeved shirt and a large, round, straw hat whenever she went out to work in the garden. Several years ago, I realized it might be wise if I started providing my face with some shade when I was outside, so went on the hunt for a similar hat. I found one at Target, bought it, and tried to wear it once. But since it was made of some horrible, plastic, fake straw, it was so hot, I never wore it again. Today, I wandered in to our local lumber yard, and encountered a stand of hats. The big round ones were made of the same lousy plastic, but there were other options made form actual straw. So I bought one.

This week is promising to be miserable. High heat and humidity dominates the forecast. I suppose I should be glad that I didn't plant anything other than some tomatoes this year and don't have much obligation to be outdoors, but I am finding if I don't get a good dose of outside every week, my spirit suffers.

I tried to get some sour dough starter going; but either my starter isn't strong enough yet, or I didn't give the dough enough time to rise, so I ended up with a little sour dough brick instead of a loaf. I sliced it, harvested the only tomatoes ripened in the garden, and proceeded to make myself a tiny tomato melt. I cut the 4 or 5 cherry tomatoes in half, nestled them into a generous layer of mayonnaise, topped it with shredded cheddar cheese, and threw it in the toaster oven. Then I ate it very slowly. I might have to steal some tomatoes from my mother's garden and try baking another loaf soon.

In other news, my bees seem to be doing well. I'm too much of a chicken to really dig into the hive at this point, as I have either killed or almost killed the queen more than once. But I took a good look at the top super last week (a third 8-frame), and several of the middle frames had capped brood, and the bees were working on filing the outer frames with honey. That prompted me to get on painting the boxes I bought last month, and so a 4th super has been added to the hive. At some point, I guess I will have to work up a little more courage and inspect the whole hive if I want to do this beekeeping thing right...

We had another critter get into our coop a week or so back, and thanks to the security cameras Chris installed, discovered this time we had a raccoon infiltrator. It killed Fluffy and all of the chicks the two mama hens had hatched. So, thanks to the possum and raccoon, our two favorite hens (Fluffy and Goldie) have both been killed this year. I wouldn't mind so much if a predator came in once in a while and picked off a rooster or two, but it appears these lot of boys have no interest in defending the flock.

Finley is off at band camp, and Joe is at a robotics day camp this week, so things are quieter around the house this week. Then the kids head back to school in just a few short weeks. Summer is flying by.

June 2017

Rumor has it that inquiries are being made about the state of my garden, so I figure it is high time for another update:

The weeds are growing nicely, as are the five tomato plants growing with them. 

One of the tomato plants growing this year, is a volunteer, the other four are starts from my brother. I have yet to put the cages around them, and I better do so before I risk damaging their limbs. Pardon me a moment while I take care of that.

*****

It's hot out there. The volunteer tomato is already sprawling too much to cage it. It has been sporting several, little green tomatoes for the past week and is teasing me by not letting them ripen. Thankfully, my mother, who is a more diligent gardener than I, gave me several yellow tomatoes last week that I devoured with some salads slathered in bleu cheese dressing. I have been diligent enough to weed around my tomatoes, but need to top with some compost and mulch so the weeds have a little harder time coming back.

If I manage to till the garden for a third time, I may get around to planting some winter squash. We shall see.

I do have a plan in the works to foil those pesky weeds. I have scalped the grass in a good sized area next to the current garden and covered it in black plastic. The hope is that all the grass will get killed off, I can build several raised beds, and put down some of that commercial landscape fabric between and around the beds to prevent weeds- and specifically that evil Bermuda grass- from growing up into my beds. The problem with my regular garden is that, although I edge it in the spring, we are far too busy to weed-eat the edge every week when we mow, so by the end of the season, Bermuda grass has infiltrated the whole garden. It's awful. 

Moving on to other things, my bees seem to be doing well. 

We just finished fencing in a new section for the beef cattle. They pasture they were on had been eaten down quite a bit, and the three steers had started getting into the habit of finding weak parts in the fence and getting out. I was so desperate to get them on the new grass that I put off protecting the maple and oak trees in the new area, and went out to discover they had rubbed a good section of bark off the maple. I'm hoping it survives. Today, I braved the heat and did my best to protect them from further damage with some t-posts and barbed wire.

Out in the chicken coop, I discovered one nesting box always had one, both, or the other of two hens sitting on some eggs. They must have decided that such a tedious job was more fun with a friend.

Now that some chicks have hatched, they are sharing the mothering duties as well.

I never get tired of seeing new chicks. It continues to be a problem, however, that a good number of them grow up to be roosters. And since we have bantams in the mix now, they don't show much promise of growing into good meat birds. As such, I have decided that the coyotes living nearby will soon be surprised with some tasty treats. 

A Cold in May

My tonsils are whimpering, and my Eustachian tubes are irritable. It is a minor miracle that I am breathing through one nostril. Zivah is camped out in the guestroom with similar symptoms, though her coughing is more frequent than mine.

I might come across as a less-than-dramatic person, but the truth is, there is plenty of that going on inside my mind.

Dramatic Me: WOE IS ME!
Logical Me: Shut up. You aren't even close to being near death.
Dramatic Me: The snot!!! It runneth like a river from my nose!
Logical Me: Stop exaggerating.
Dramatic Me: Oh, who will save me from this misery!
Logical Me: Are you borrowing from the Apostle Paul, or Dr. Seuss?
Dramatic Me: I need to write poems about the agony of having a cold in spring. begins coming up with other words that rhyme with snot
Logical Me: debates with self whether it would be wiser to work through the cold or sit on the couch and rest
Me Me: listens to all the inward banter and decides it would be okay to ignore major housework and sit on the couch to write a little

I bought a new hummingbird feeder. The one the birds liked best grew mold in the inverted bottle that was impossible to clean out. The new feeder sports a wider mouth and little slits instead of  holes that are supposed to keep the wasps and other bugs out of it. I'm happy with the ease of cleaning but am not sure the birds like drinking through the slits.

Our second female duck is sitting on a pile of eggs. She just recently moved her nest right in front of the door, and while the other mama would run out in fright when I came in to check on things, this mama stays and hisses like a mad cat about to claw you to pieces. We will soon be overrun with ducks. If anyone in the Middle Tennessee area wants a few, let me know.

I started digging the Bermuda grass out of the garden a couple weeks ago, but as things tend to go around here, I still haven't finished, and the tomato plants Mark gave me are hanging on to life while they wait for transplantation. Guess there won't be much of a garden this year. I did manage to spray the fruit trees yesterday.

The gold finches are back. I should take a break to research whether they are migratory birds, but I am assuming so, since I never see them over the winter months. They have a habit of hanging out on the driveway in the mornings. When we leave for school, we scare them up, and their droopy flights always catch my attention. It's as if they are too heavy to stay aloft and start diving toward the ground. Then a few hard flaps, and they swoop back up, only to drop again.

For the Bird and Bees

There is so much to tell.

While the writer in me wants to take the time to tell the story, the utilitarian in me would like bullet points to get through it all. 

In my last report, Goldie was sharing a nest with the duck, and I had plans to separate them. We moved Fluffy and her chick, Bailey, out to the stable, along with Goldie and her chicken eggs. Everyone settled in nicely. The duck was happy to have her nest all to herself, and Goldie barely blinked at being moved. Bailey took to snuggling up with Goldie and her eggs at times. On chillier night, all three would snuggle up together in Goldie's nest.

When Goldie's eggs started hatching, the two baby chicks took to Fluffy right away, while Goldie stayed on the nest, waiting for the rest to hatch. It became apparent they never would, so I removed them before the stink got bad. Soon, they were a tight knit little group of two mamas looking out for three chicks, regardless of who had sat on the egg.

Meanwhile, the duck still had a week to go on her eggs, and her pile kept growing as she incorporated any egg laid on the floor of the coop. 

Then we acquired some bees. I waited a little too long to check on them after installation, and was confronted with some large drawn-out combs attached to the bottom of the feeder. 

The good news was that I could tell the queen was laying. The bad new was, I didn't know what damage I did when removing the comb, if any. A week later showed spottily-capped brood and perhaps some attempts by the bees to make a new queen. I will check soon to see what happened.

Back in the chicken coop, the duck hatched out five, cute, little ducklings.

Soon after, we moved Goldie, Fluffy, and the three chicks back out to the coop.

That was a mistake. 

A few days later, Goldie went missing. Aside from a few downy feathers scattered about, there was no sign of her. We checked everywhere: in Jane's hutch, underneath the coop, behind the feed bins, everywhere. I couldn't understand it. There was no way I saw that she could have escaped the aviary and wandered off. Maybe, I hoped irrationally, she was so loved, God whisked her away like he did Elijah.

The next day, I checked the coop, and -horror of horrors- found a mangled, half-eaten Bailey in the back corner of the coop. Something was getting in.

Now, I know there are these little articles floating around the internets about opossums and how great they are because they eat ticks. But chicken keepers don't care. Chickens eat ticks, and opossums eat chickens. Opossums are not welcome here on the farm.

The next morning saw a possum in the trap outside the coop, and we will have to be a little more careful with the hole (aka. possum access) we have in the gate that lets us chain it shut.

In other news, we finally put up the bat houses I received last year for my birthday. I stood outside at dusk a few nights ago, and was delighted to see two or three little bats swooping through the air above the farm. We have no idea if they are making use of the new accommodations, but at least the bats will know they are welcome here.

Messing with the Mamas

I underestimated the duck.

After noticing the duck had laid one egg back in the nest with Goldie yesterday, I snatched it out and placed it in another pile of duck eggs in a different corner of the coop. This morning, I went out to check on the birds, and noticed first thing that there was only ONE duck egg where I had left the pile the day before. Befuddled, I dug around in the mound of hay surrounding the single egg, thinking they might have gotten buried in the hay, but nothing was there. I glanced back over toward Goldie's nest (that the duck had just abandoned when I came in), and there they were. Somehow, that duck had moved her eggs back to the nest she was cohabiting with Goldie!

Meanwhile, Fluffy-Head was getting hungry. As soon as I threw down some feed a few feet away from her nest, she jumped up to eat, and I was able to get a picture of her chick.

Finley named the chick Bailey after her band-mate that shares a birthday with the chick.

I figured I probably needed to move FH and her chick to the pen in the stable so they would have hassle-free access to food and water. I plan to move Goldie and the chicken eggs out there later tonight, in hopes she won't get too shook up by the move and the duck will get to have her duck-egg nest all to herself. Who knew birds could be so complicated?

Funny Farm- Fowl Feature

It's springtime once again on the Funny Farm. The daffodils and a peach tree are blooming, the tulips are poking up through the soil, and the grass looks green and lush. And this weekend we might get snow. I am a little disgruntled.

We are also in the throes of chick-fever. The incubator is cooking up some eggs, and out in the chicken coop, there are other things happening.

A few weeks ago, I noticed Fluffy-Head, our little white silkie, stubbornly sitting in one corner of the chicken coop floor. I was a little surprised, because I had been good about gathering eggs daily, and knew there couldn't be but a few under her fuzzy bum. A few days in, and I finally caught her off the nest grabbing a quick bite to eat. Only one egg. But I could tell, she was determined.

About a week later, I caught our other silkie hen, Goldie, acting a little broody.

Goldie was sitting on a big pile of duck eggs, her little body not quite big enough to cover them all. Worrying that she wasn't going to be able to keep them all sufficiently warm and that the longer incubation period for duck eggs would be hard on her, I swapped the duck eggs out for some chicken eggs. Though Goldie grumbled a bit when I lifted her off the nest, she settled right back onto the new eggs without much complaint.

But, poor little Goldie. I didn't realize there was a kooky mama duck half fixated of that pile of eggs. Periodically, when I would go in to gather eggs or check on the birds at night, that duck would be nestled down next to Goldie. Then, disturbed by my intrusion, she would jump up and run off, leaving Goldie to tend the nest solo again. On top of it all, mama duck is still laying eggs, mostly in locations other than the original nest. Even though I've tried to pile them up in the spot she laid most recently, she'll keep going back to sit on the nest with Goldie. I guess ducks aren't too bright.

Yesterday, Finley noticed that Fluffy-Head's egg had pipped. I watched for a bit while F-H was off her nest, and sure enough, out popped a beak, breaking free another little section of egg. Quick births seem to be rare occurrences. Eggs are no exception, so I knew enough to be patient and wait until morning to check on the chick.

Last night, a cold front moved in, and today isn't nearly as warm. Fluffy-Head is refusing to move from the nest, but periodically, I can hear the chick peeping somewhere under the fluff. I am tempted to try to snatch F-H off the nest just to catch a glimpse of her baby, but am not sure I want to traumatize them. We'll see. Impatience may overcome my empathy.